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A few months ago, my boyfriend and I called it a day, went our separate ways, decided to draw a line in the sand, took a breather… Probably not, but at least it oils the wheels of conversation, making others feel less awkward.
Blessed with a friendship that predates our romance, Andrew and I have decided that we want to re-knit those treasured old threads.
More bizarrely, my legs had turned overnight into tree trunks; it turned out that I had slept so heavily that my circulation had all but stopped.
I had learnt to lean on his unfailing kindness and his chirpy, energetic optimism.
His touching ethos that no day is too long, no potential adventure too far away to be worth attempting, contrasted sharply with my fundamental distrust of enthusiasm.
I knew things were back to normal when he called around to say that we had an invitation to Buckingham Palace, and then slipped me something that looked like a coupon from the back of a packet of Frosties. A nervous giggle in the coat cupboard gave him away.
A few Bruce Lee moves quickly had him flat on his back on the floor. One thick card - "The Lord Chamberlain is Commanded by Her Majesty, etc" - was now secure in my pocket.
My languid response to all innovations or excursions tended to be: "Darling - what on earth for?